by Matt Keefer

Frontman Wayne Coyne approaches the tour at his own pace.

Few could predict that an indie punk group from Oklahoma City would have such an innovative presence in the music world. At 49, Wayne Coyne and his quartet of space-a-delic freaks, including bassist Michael Ivins and drummers Steven Drozd and Kliph Scurlock, have earned a Grammy, covered Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon” in its entirety, and toured relentlessly across the world. Currently on tour for their first double-album Embryonic (excluding Zaireeka, their 1997 four-album experiment), the self-deprecating Coyne delivers about the not-so-glamorous side of touring, as well as about future projects.

Matt Keefer: Thanks for your time. Do you mind if I record the interview?

Wayne Coyne: Sure. I don’t expect you to write it all down and remember it. I’m not doubting your ability to remember, but, see, I just talk. It might be a lot easier for you to say, ‘Nah, that fucker goes on too long.’

M: At 27, being 49 seems like a long way to travel.

WC: I remember when I was 27, I would think about someone who’s almost 50 years old: ‘Dude, are you alright?’ I don’t ever get the feeling that I’m any different. It’s only when I look in the mirror sometimes that I think, “oh wow, I look like a weird old guy.” I don’t feel different to myself. It’s a strange phenomenon.

M: How’s your tour for Embryonic going so far?

WC: We’re never really on tour for very long. We’ll go out for maybe about ten days, play some shows, then we’ll go home for ten days… we’re always doing everything at the same time. Since we’re playing some shows in the summertime, you always run into other groups, and we ran into a group, Trombone Shorty, just last night. They’re almost into their third consecutive month of playing. That can beat you down. I already did that several times – when I was your age – and it can be such a mind-fuck, you’re so torn away from your life that you’re trying to build, the people that you knew. Like I said, I’m 49 years old, and the other guys, they’re not as old as me, but they’re not in their early 20s. I think they don’t want to be taken away from their families and their lives for that long. And you can almost go endlessly the way we’re going. You can almost never stop, because we’re going full-time. Doing the Flaming Lips tour is kind of like working at Target: it just kinda is. It’s not too hard, you just get up and go to work.

M: I know some musicians that have kids, and touring must be rough on them.

WC: Especially for musicians. The reason I say musicians is that they have a sensitivity about them, or they probably wouldn’t like music. And all these things that play into human dramas and emotions are just a little bit more, either enjoyable, or a little bit more painful. Sometimes I think groups try to say ‘we’re going to play for six months straight,’ and then take three years off. You know, that’s easy to say, but a lot of things happen to people in six months that you cannot reverse. Especially if you have young children. Six months, they’ll be completely different little creatures by then. We don’t want that. We want to make our music, do our performances, do all these things because we love what we do, not put one thing that we love on hold so we can have another. We want to have it all at the same time.

M: On the positive aspect of that, do you have any good tour stories?

WC: (Laughs) I don’t know, a lot of times there’s not that much crazy shit going on. When we played at Bonnaroo about a month ago, you play into the night pretty long, and there’s a lot of young people there that are doing drugs and stuff. So those [gigs] always play more into the good old rock and roll stories. After we got done, it was about ten minutes after three in the morning, I went over to the LCD Soundsystem stage, where they had just started their set – and I sort of Tweeted about it the day afterward – but this big, naked guy sort of attacked the stage.  Me and, what’s this comedian’s name, Aziz Ansari? – this giant, freaked-out naked guy, had to be doing some acid or something, simply attacked the stage, and we sort of had to hold him down until the security guards could take him away. It was a very strange, charged moment, where that doesn’t happen to you every day. You know, where you’re suddenly assailed by a 300-pound, naked guy, and he’s all sweaty and he’s drenched. That’s probably the last phenomenal rock-and-roll moment that happened to us.

M: I guess at that moment you’re glad that you pump iron five times a week.

WC: I don’t do that much, but I do yoga almost every day. So, yeah, you’re glad that you have energy and you can react and you don’t feel intimidated. I know you’re saying that jokingly, but I mean it. To be in a group, and to do all these things; you wouldn’t want to do it if you don’t have a lot of enthusiasm. So yeah, I jumped right to task. We didn’t really want to. The guy was very strong but he was pretty slippery, because he was so sweaty. The slipperiness made it impossible to grab him. It’s a good trick. If you’re ever going to run from the cops, strip yourself naked and be slippery.

M: Sure. I should probably carry some cans of grease, too.

WC: (Pauses) Then their only solution is to tase you.

M: You’ve also toured Europe and around the world. Any places you’ve enjoyed outside of the US?

WC: It’s all pretty great when you’re a group like the Flaming Lips. Most everywhere that we would go nowadays, we’re invited to play by a group of enthusiastic ‘freaks.’ We just recently went to Croatia, and we played the Glastonbury Festival (in UK) and got to see Snoop Dogg, meet Mick Jones from the Clash. Hang out with Damien Hirst. There’s a lot of great things that can happen to you simply because you’re just traveling the world all the time. But the other side of it is that you spend a lot of time in airports and on airplanes. Sometimes you get done playing at two-o-clock in the morning, and you have to get to the airport at four-o-clock in the morning. Running from one show to the next, everything is ‘hurry hurry hurry’ all the time. Sometimes I think it’s too many experiences. It’d be like having to eat twenty meals in one day. There’s just no way you can enjoy all the things that are happening.

M: Do you have anything new on the horizon?

WC: We’re always – I don’t know if ‘contemplating’ is the right word – but you’re always considering new musical ideas, new things that you want to play into. We’re always doing little movies and little videos. I just shot an ending of a video for a song on Embryonic called “See the Leaves”. We were shooting this guy on the north side of Oklahoma City who has a big acreage where he’s burning a bunch of his brush that he had chopped down. So we saw this giant fucking bonfire. We shot for an ongoing piece in our storyboard there. So it’s always a kind of combination of everything: new music, and new movies, new videos, new things for our website, new toys, new t-shirts. Everything is a Flaming Lips creation. The great range of things that you can do readjusts your focus on music.

M: Last question: Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs made a brief appearance as a frog on Embryonic.  Would you consider a fuller collaboration with her?

WC: These are definitely collaborations of a sort. I don’t know. For me, I’m more comfortable doing these types of collaborations, where I have the song written, and I have the arrangement, and I just simply call Karen and say ‘All you have to do is be you, and I’ll do all the work.’ A lot of artists don’t really want to collaborate in the sense that people think they do. The art is a lot of times just made very intensely. You simply say, ‘I like this and I don’t care what you think.’ That is in a lot of ways how art is made. And when you’re collaborating with someone that you love and admire, the way that I was working with Karen O, it’s not so much a collaboration, as it’s me giving her a format for her to be her pure self. And that’s different than us writing a song or writing lyrics or writing an arrangement together. So, I don’t know. If whoever called me up and said, ‘Hey, do you want to do this,’ I would always be open for it. I’m open to new experiences and new failures or successes. But I could understand how a lot of people wouldn’t be. It’s nerve-wracking; it’s not always very pleasant. I try to make ours as easy, as quick, and as pleasant as possible. They simply can do this little thing, and be part of this bigger thing. That’s why most artists would want to do it in that way, more than a ‘Hey Henry (Rollins), why don’t you write a song today?’ A lot of people will do that to us. I’ll say ‘not really, but I will, if that’s what we’re doing.’

M: You’re definitely right: you talk a lot. But it works with interviews.

WC: (Laughs) I know I paint it like it’s going to be torture, but I’m trying to give you as much a lay of thinking about me as you can. Make me sound cool.

The Flaming Lips will be playing on 10/10 in Austin, TX. You can buy tickets here.

The Flaming Lips – Race for the Prize

The Flaming Lips – Fight Test

The Flaming Lips – It’s Summertime

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Following up a feature on Damon Albarn implies a drop in quality and prestige, especially considering how few artists are able to stay relevant for over twenty years. Even if they cannot be deemed “obscure”, many figures are worth exposing regardless of their original prestige. The work they are producing is just that good. Like any new Albarn project, Paul Weller is worth listening to whenever he releases something. He is easily one of the most recognizable figures in the UK for founding The Jam, The Style Council, and the illustrious solo career that followed. Albarn and Weller are actually one of few people in this world that can compare their accomplishments, as one could easily argue that Blur’s experiences in the ’90s were very similar to those of The Jam in the late ’70s. Success nearly limited to the UK, a series of triumphs without a flop, and a distinctively British demeanor that brought them praise (even if it was somewhat isolated). It took several years before the rest of the world caught on to both The Jam and Blur, with bands like the Sex Pistols and Oasis previously overshadowing them everywhere else. The later realization was that both groups were putting forth stylistic innovation, something that their contemporaries had lacked. The Jam was later classified as the forefathers of the “Mod revival”, while Blur’s vein of Brit-pop is now widely considered to be the genre’s staple. Both of these bands impacted the music scene at different decades, but their paths ended up being very similar due to the rare talent and presence of both lead songwriters.

Although the two have never worked together, the mutual respect between Albarn and Weller seems apparent. Weller even collaborated with Albarn’s ex-Blur bandmate, Graham Coxon, on “This Old Town”, a nice single that peaked at #39 in the UK charts. Check it out here. Weller also commented on Albarn’s Mali Music by calling it “brilliant… a perfect way in to the music of Mali.” Both are hardly strangers to ambitious solo attempts in that vein, whether serving as an introduction to Mali music or a change of stylistic preference per each album. They are both renowned for mixing it up with each project, of which there are many. Albarn is already having a great year with the excellent Plastic Beach, and since they always seem to be step-for-step it is not surprising to see Weller with another solo album. His tenth studio album, Wake Up the Nation, will be released this April. Perhaps the most notable aspect upon release is that it features Bruce Foxton, former bassist of The Jam. Just like Albarn, Weller is having his own mini-reunion of sorts with his first successful band, even if this is just a one-time thing. Weller and Foxton have always had a good enough relationship, so when both lost loved ones recently they took solace in collaboration among friends. One could say it was a coping mechanism, but the result of Wake Up the Nation shows much more than an album with forced intent.

Wake Up the Nation comes with lofty expectations since it comes fresh off the massively successful release of 22 Dreams, which was Weller’s third solo album that peaked at #1. Featuring a massive 21 tracks, its consistencies were startling as it was unarguably one of the finest of Weller’s outstanding career. Even upon seeing this success though, Weller is just like Albarn in that he cannot tread in one stylistic territory too long regardless of its acclaim. While Wake Up the Nation is still distinctively a Weller solo album, it raises his intensity up a notch with a brisker and more punk-oriented sound that relies on short song lengths, spontaneous hooks, and rhythmic intensity. Unsurprisingly, the album’s collaborators already accustomed to such a sound. Foxton’s brisk bass work with The Jam is already long-renowned, and cameos from Kevin Shields (My Bloody Valentine), Bev Bevan (ELO, The Move), and drummer Clem Cattini help make this album full of imaginative and unique ideas. At the end of it all though, Weller emerges as the star presence. His successful forays into various genres foreshadow such an accomplishment before the release of each new album.

The string-laden chorus of “No Tears Left to Cry” steps back a bit from the hurried approach of its two predecessors, finding a bit of sentimental Weller shine without ruining the album’s flow. “Fast Car, Slow Traffic” has the same sort of spontaneous flow, with a sloppy dose of keys occasionally providing a nice flourish. This is quite an experimental effort considering its length, and Weller clearly has a new fascination with sampling and field sound effects that he employs well. He manages to play with this and not alter his style dramatically, once again resulting in a fresh-faced version of a nostalgic sound we already knew and loved. While those yearning for the ambitious and somewhat serene approach of 22 Dreams may be disappointed with the brisker, straightforward, and more improvisational-sounding result of Wake Up the Nation, Weller’s unique songwriting charm after several listens is precisely the same as 22 Dreams. Wake Up the Nation meshes together with songs that end before even starting, most of these entailing a very high replay value as a result. Weller flaunts some great songwriting as usual, except here it may take several listens to get it stuck in your head since the brilliant ideas feel no need to repeat themselves. With some tracks like “Grasp and Still Connect” showing strings in the chorus and others like “Wake Up the Nation” going the conventional guitar-punk route, the differences between songs are subtle upon first listen but grow rapidly since the bulk of the album features standouts.

Like all Weller albums, Wake Up the Nation should be received well. It brings us back to Weller’s phases with The Jam and early solo material, which saw shorter songs and more intensity as opposed to ambitious stylistic trips that were often extended (almost always for enjoyable purposes). While this is certainly an ambitious effort in its own right by constricting songs to under three minutes, utilizing a variety of samples, and employing improvisational spurts of keys and strings, Wake Up the Nation retains the hooks and accessible appeal necessary to retain Weller’s role as one of the most beloved musicians in the UK. It is guaranteed to chart in the UK like all other Weller albums, but I also would not be surprised if it saw some time on the US charts as well. This has some heavy art-rock, funk, and jazz influences, which I feel American audiences could be very receptive toward when incorporated with Weller’s trademark sound. Just check out the sprawling “Aim High” for such achievements in fusion. When listening to efforts like this, I just wish there were more artists like Damon Albarn and Paul Weller around. They appear stylistically fearless and ambivalent to the future, both characteristics that treat listeners to their utmost and most sincere potential.

RIYL: The Jam, The Style Council, Ocean Colour Scene, The Charlatans, Shed Seven, Ray Davies, Ian Brown, The Stone Roses, The La’s, The High Numbers, Richard Ashcroft, Hurricane #1

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Paul Weller – Aim High

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Paul Weller – Moonshine

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Paul Weller – No Tears Left to Cry

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I was a bit weary when Bishop Allen began their EP project, where they released an EP once every month for the entirety of 2006. Why rush artistic integrity and spoil the chances of a full-length masterpiece in the process? Many listeners probably had a similar first impression, but when hearing the type of content that the Brooklyn-based duo produced throughout these 12 EPs it began to make sense. They almost resembled lo-fi bedroom recordings with their amiable DIY dedication, their infectious indie-pop being led by an array of crackling guitars and pianos. Although the sporadic stream of releases prevented much press since most music publications would not dare review the same band every month, the concept alone generated plenty of recognition that brought acclaim for both the band’s work ethic and stylistic focus. To keep listeners coming back every month for a release that hardly varied in style was quite an achievement, and in doing this it represented the duo’s cunning songwriting ability. After the finale of this EP project, it was hardly a surprise when Bishop Allen landed a respectable label deal with Dead Oceans (which involves people from Secretly Canadian and Jagjaguwar) because of this new acclaim.

A Brief Smile are another group out of NYC attempting a similar concept, except this time without the major indie backing and promotion that Bishop Allen had. A Brief Smile has already released three EPs this year, one each on the first Friday of May, June, and July. Whereas Bishop Allen had previously established substantial recognition with a full-length debut in Charm School before undertaking this adventurous approach, A Brief Smile are generally unknowns still looking for their breakthrough. An short 7-track debut, R.E.S.T., was released in 2005 before a full-length album, Now We All Have Horns, appeared in 2007, but there remains a vague enigma surrounding this group. Each of their three EPs this year represent varying stylistic approaches, leaving a sense of unpredictability that can only be positive for a group as young as A Brief Smile, who all met while attending NYU. The estimations surrounding their next album cannot be conventionally hypothesized, as bassist John Carnes explains. “These albums are all different from one another sonically but I think if you really listen to the lyrics, you’ll find commonalities – a kind of narrative that goes from creation to destruction to creation.” This kind of stylistic multifariousness that A Brief Smile have shown despite a limited number of release is what makes them so promising for the future.

A Brief Smile’s absence from touring since August can likely be contributed to whispers of a full-length release. The five-piece is now at work on “a dance record” that uses “dark chugging synths” to pave the way for a return to the band’s pop roots, set to be released sometime in 2010. This return to their pop roots is in reference to their earlier material, which is in slight contrast to the tinge of indie-psychedelia displayed on Sunshine State, the most recent of their three EPs this year. “Animal Magnetism” shows off this psyche side quite well in addition to the five-piece’s versatility. “Do you believe in the hope of a magnetic soul?” DL Tashjian sings over impulsive stuttering of keys, assailing guitar riffs, and bursts of tuned-up bass. Tashjian’s vocals are crisp and delightful, adding melodic variations of vibrato similar to that of Jim James, though comparisons to the powerful quiver of Brandon Summers (The Helio Sequence) is more apt due to the shared uses of soaring melodies within a sparkling blend of indie-rock and electronic-rock. A track like this can be accredited to indie-rock with its conventional structure and length, but at times the soaring guitars make it feel like more of a post-rock effort. When all the instruments condense in the last minute over the hectic pattering of percussion and Tashjian’s echoed moans, it feels as if a ten-minute epic had just concluded. I mean this in the best way possible too; it is a song that makes time move slower due to its psychedelic leanings, while hardly abiding by the stereotype that enjoyment is best identified by time passing quickly.

“Bigger Lies” continues to tout its psychedelic influences like “Animal Magnetism” did, promoting its 4:20 length quite nicely. This is an extremely developmental effort, with a bass-keyboard fusion providing a leading melody that is no more than four notes. This unfolds as expected though, and judging how effective A Brief Smile are in exposing . You can just feel the anthemic section of “Bigger Lies” unfolding as the track progresses, the rhythm section hinting at possible bursts of melodic variation. Tashjian’s vocals continue to solidify any lack of variation that may occur during the track’s early goings, providing plenty of dramatic flair before interesting harmonic combinations and rhythmic appliances are utilized to establish “Bigger Lies” as one of the most convincing efforts of A Brief Smile’s career thus far. It should be the first of many monumental successes for this group . I honestly believe that this tracks will go overlooked simply because songs on 3-song EPs from unknowns generally tend to be disregarded. If these were perhaps put towards their eventual full-length then more exposure would have been imminent, but looking at these three EPs it was clear that A Brief Smile did this for their growing fanbase and not for commercialized potential. With A Brief Smile now hard at work in the studio, we have a gem like Sunshine State to tide us over until their dark, synth-savvy follow-up is released in 2010. Download a few of their EPs for free here or there until then; this level of quality is rarely distributed for free so take advantage of it.

RIYL: The Helio Sequence, Dirty on Purpose, The Happy Hollows, My Morning Jacket, Snowden, Annuals, The Main Drag

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A Brief Smile – Bigger Lies

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A Brief Smile – Animal Magnetism

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A Brief Smile – Honeycomb Shrinking

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To say that Lymbyc Systym represent the next large movement might be an overstatement, but their methodology is certainly becoming more prevalent among emerging artists. Almost all of us can remember being enamored with a certain technological breakthrough during our childhood, from color television to smart-phones. Many young artists today can probably remember when Atari or the internet first came out, which are now regarded as a few of the first interactive technological experiences available to the general public. Growing up in the ’80s or ’90s meant having these advancements pushed in your face, whether it was the social functions of arcades or the necessity of computer skills. Interest in technology unsurprisingly peaked as a result during this time among the public, whose younger demographic grew up to be already accustomed to the technological skills that older individuals have difficulty grasping. The musicians naturally hold true to traditional theory and influences, but many also fused their tech-savvy skills into aspiring musicianship to create music that used both today’s latest technology and the influential musicians of yesterday. Lymbyc Systym, among several others, have begun using this to create a successful project by today’s standards.

Brothers Jared and Michael Bell possess the obvious modernistic edge as the founders of Lymbyc Systym, and with that they should know that glitzy production and VSTs are not going to disguise sloppy songwriting (except in the genre of trance perhaps). Luckily for their listeners, the Bell brothers are not going to overburden you with robotic tendencies. Their influences range everywhere from free-jazz to thumping indie-rock, resulting in a glistening combination of powerful musical layers and styles that could probably be classified best as post-rock. Their approach is a tad more futuristic than others in the genre though, owing more to those in the vein in The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev instead of Mogwai or Mono; the vibe is distinctively futuristic even if electronic forces are only subtly prevalent. Possessing the orchestral beauty of Sigur Rós and versatile prose of a Broken Social Scene in one, Lymbyc Systym successfully tread the dangerous waters of loops being implemented into post-rock. Whether it is percussive horse hoofs, washes of breaking waves, or trickles of a pulsing synth, Lymbyc Systym implement it all beautifully without sacrificing the delicately authentic nature of group-based post-rock.

Lymbyc Systym’s second full-length album, Shutter Release, should open great doors for the Arizona-based brothers, much in the way Lost and Safe did for The Books in 2005. I make this reference because the two duos are currently touring together, in addition to possessing similar styles of music that must make it a treat for audiences interested in sample-supported post-rock. Note the “supported” emphasis, for neither band make an issue of overusing it and abandoning the genre’s ethics. Both groups manipulate the boundaries of post-rock and electronica, producing a mesh of madness that is often incomparable. Lymbyc Systym shows this as well as versatility; the varying tempos on the album are remarkable for its diversity, like the gradual build-up contained after the imploring brass and twinkling of keys in the self-titled effort where it explodes from delicate chamber-music to a full-blown haze of shoegaze and intensifying post-rock. The previous two genres are perfectly represented through keys and rhythm, as guitars are prominent but more in their tonal direction. Their melodic content is irrelevant but done so intentionally to ensure the diversity and authentic entertainment of the track. Listening to this one, among others on the album, a few times or so will reinforce this.

Shutter Release can sound everything from dark and brooding to effervescent and triumphant, though its main point of interest is how these moods are delivered. The swipes of keys over bursts of childish laughter in “Teddy”, the infusion of guitars and keys to create the monstrous driving melody in “Ghost Clock” before reverting into anthemic indie-rock bliss, and the pit-pattering of percussion over unfolding organs and pulsating synth chords… these are just a few of the audibly descriptive examples I can provide after listening to Shutter Release a few times. The songs are so well constructed and maneuvered that the replay value on this one is tremendous, whether you are listening for that single hook or the entire song’s cumulative value. Everything is present in these tracks, as there is so much ambition and exploration that the topic of one’s enjoyment becomes subjective in a sense. There is so much to like here that the only thing listeners have to argue over is the best moment of any track. On an album like Shutter Release with so much to admire though, it would be unjustified to choose just one.

RIYL: The Books, Broken Social Scene, Sigur Rós, This Will Destroy You, The Album Leaf, Do Make Say Think

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Lymbyc Systym – Ghost Clock

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Lymbyc Systym – Shutter Release

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Lymbyc Systym – Teddy

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Continuing with the recent theme of atmospheric pop music that Washed Out and Neon Indian showed us, Her Vanished Grace deliver a similar sort of layer-based sereneness that differentiates itself through dark and moody Brit-rock instead of chilly electronica or sample-based experimentation. By most accounts, Blue is their tenth release of new material since their debut, State of Grace, was released in 1991 with a promising take on atmospheric pop that revolved around assorted guitars and keyboards. Her Vanished Grace’s actual number of releases is somewhat debated due to their cult-like following, which has manufactured many assorted mixtapes and compilations in itself. If one thing is for certain though, it is the rare capability that this band has to remain interesting as time goes on. As their tenth release Blue shows us, it does not take a precise discography for a listener to witness Her Vanished Grace’s maturation. Their initial career reaped from interesting use of post-rock, noise, and shoegaze, wearing influences like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine on their sleeves despite noticeably lo-fi production that prevented the New York-based group from reaching widespread recognition. Their work still touts those prestigious influences today, but now they infuse more of their originality in an effort to differentiate themselves. So far, so good.

The most recent incarnation of Her Vanished Grace commenced in 2000 with Colors Vols. 1 & 2, when the founding husband-and-wife duo of Charles and Nance Nieland disbanded the initial workings of Her Vanished Grace and combined forces with bassist Maria Theodosiadou and drummer Brian Haarer to form a more full-bodied version of their initial group. A vigorously talented rhythm section and higher-budget recording methods in addition to the songwriter-guitarist husband-and-wife duo paved way for their most successful period in the early to mid 2000s. Five new albums were released after Colors, the most recent being the excellent Blue. Although their success to date has been gaining momentum for several years now, Blue may be the knockout punch that propels this band from obscurity to unanimous acclaim. Charles and Nance met at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art about two decades ago, and ever since then they have been working together to pursue their dream of musical success. Time is only relative for artists, and many may consider success occurring after attributed experience is better than success prior to experience, for it is a factor that is a monumental factor in determining an artist’s durability.

Durability is synonymous with Her Vanished Grace, at least in the sense that longtime fans have yet to be disappointed with the four-piece. Billy Loose has since replaced Haarer on drums but the original duo along with Theodosiadou are still there along with their ambitions. In terms of stylistic exploration, Blue has little to offer in terms of breakthroughs, but their blending of familiar styles like power-pop and shoegaze into one beautiful audible landscape make up for any lack of stylistic innovation. To enjoy Blue one must push aside any stylistic biases regarding shoegaze, as common stylistic elements like reverb and gushing guitars are abundant but not utilized in a conventional manner. Since the melodies are crisp and polished in the form of modern indie-pop instead, the regressing influence is not exposed in the way one might expect. The excellent self-titled track instead reaps from an infectious blend of power-pop and post-punk, being grounded in production techniques involving heavy doses of reverb, thick tremolos, and heightening guitar arpeggios that clash with a bustling rhythm section to consume the listener through both pop-minded appeal and atmospheric vision. Like predecessors in the vein of Sonic Youth and Ride, Blue marks Her Vanished Grace’s true emerging period as a group putting their ambition to accessible use without sacrificing the ingenuity that got them there in the first place.

Although both Charles and Nance contribute vocal duties on Blue, Charles is primarily used due to the way his brooding vocals accentuate the retrospective and forlorn aroma of post-punk and shoegaze most commonly attributed to Her Vanished Grace. The band employs their differing vocal styles well, allowing each specialty to reap from their eclectic use of instrumentation. For instance, Charles is lead on the empowering “Blue”, where a brilliantly moody chorus provides awe-inspiring embrace in washed layers of guitars and synth pads. Its strength is dependent on darkening mood and evolving versatility, growing from an emotive guitar-driven piece to one guided by distinctive layers of sound that accompany a versatile croon that goes from low-pitched to an ethereal chant of sorts with heightened pitch. Charles’ presence is felt in the album’s darker tracks, leaving room for Nance to take control of more lighthearted efforts like “Rush”. With a better grasp of bubblegum-pop or lighthearted indie-pop in the vein of Metric or Mates of State, “Rush” works by using a bunch of repeating guitar chords before exerting itself into a chorus that reminds me of 90s Brit-rock in the vein of PJ Harvey, Black Box Recorder, or even less absurd Morrissey efforts like “Reader Meets Author” with its swirling sort of guitar-based simplicity. Although it strains itself from too much repetition, it is a nice reliever from Her Vanished Grace’s more emotionally complex efforts like “Blue and “Remember”, as enjoyable as they are.

The latter is narrative in approach as Charles and Nance participate in a duet, again retracing their steps to the amiable type of alt-rock that was abundant throughout the ’90s. With Charles’ vocals at times sounding like a cross between Gruff Rhys, Morrissey, and Hayden Thorpe (Wild Beasts), his versatile approach does wonders to this respective style along with the band’s tendency for anthemic hooks. Nance’s contributions contrast somewhat in terms of style, but the parallel creates very refreshing circumstances that are simply a testament to the group’s valuable chemistry. The diversity between efforts like “Blue” and “Rush” summarize the album’s success quite well, as Blue serves as an enjoyable release that relies on the band’s gathered experience in the spectrums of pop music and layer-based atmospherics. Without the experience of nearly two decades I would be surprised if Blue would have even been possible, but Her Vanished Grace have undoubtedly reached an artistic peak by doing so without sacrificing what got them here in the first place.

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Her Vanished Grace – Blue

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Her Vanished Grace – Slip Away

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Her Vanished Grace – Remember

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Continuing with the stream of CMJ-bound artists, The Library are a bit different from what many expect at a festival of CMJ’s often frenetic vein. Often popular for artists that tout theatrical art-rock, synth-pounding dance-pop, or other forms of danceable bliss with high tempos, the audience at CMJ may initially be startled to hear this Brooklyn five-piece’s serene interpretation of folk. Deriving members from The Mayflies USA and The Comas, The Library draw most prominently from influences of ’70s. Neil Young’s more reflective material (On the Beach) is one of them, as are others that were precursors to the psyche-folk movement of the ’70s. The Library tend to integrate these influences with retrospective views of ’90s alternative-rock, even if the components are so subtle that only committed fans of certain artists could recognize them. Maybe it was how bands in the vein of Slowdive, Ride, and Spiritualized collided defiant alternative-rock with reverb-heavy doses of ’70s pop and folk, resulting in a path between shoegaze and nostalgic pop that established such artists as the most effective of the ’90s. Either way, The Library are safely following a similar path in attaining success through manipulating our perceptions of a style or genre often deemed as nostalgic.

Vocalist Matt Long is hardly a far cry from The Clientele’s Alasdair MacLean in vocal range and delivery, both using their admiration for ’60s pop and its subsequent sub-genre concoctions to create a world where melodies are both frail and beauty, with the emitted emotions being genuine and memorable. The Library’s new album, The Life and Times of Rosa Lee, combines this emotive sensibility with nostalgic stylistic references to compel listeners into a substantial accomplishment. “Tomorrow is Better” adds a slight twang to the predictably smooth accompaniment of hazy acoustics and usable percussion, adding in a harmonica for further effect over the subtle accompaniment of keys. This natural arsenal of instrumentation – guitar, rhythm, lap steel, and harmonica – generally compares to their earlier influences, even if the production is polished enough to easily spot its origination in the ’90s or ’00s. Slight components, like the lap steel arpeggio during the first verse, tend to sound more modernistic, while the beautiful bridge into a simplistically alluring chorus sounds like the work of a lost legend from the ’60s. “Tomorrow is Better” summarizes the sound of The Library exceptionally, it being a soothing and ethereal journey into the derivations of ’60s pop and folk while maintaining an emphasis on contemporary folk.

The romanticized contemplation expressed in “Tomorrow Is Better” serves well for the album’s general theme, with the opening “Wish I Knew” also expressing similar sentiments. Long’s vocals are particularly high-pitched but also relaxed here, probably adjusted for the use of strings that are similar in pitch. The result is a cohesively masterful arrangement that collides Long’s tenderly forlorn vocals, slow and emotive strings, and moderately paced acoustics into a breathtakingly exceptional track that serves as the perfect opener for The Life and Times of Rosa Lee. “You can call me up most anytime at all,” Long offers, merely requesting one chance to prove his point, “I promise not to be like them.” The Library are hardly like the others after all, abiding by their own standard and interpretation of nostalgic pop despite prevalent resemblances to The Clientele and other mood-based groups. Although it is certainly more of a mood track than one bursting with hooks, there are other tracks like “Tomorrow Is Better” and “Club Amnesia” on The Life and Times of Rosa Lee that emphasize more hooks than mood, with the self-titled cut also being one of them.

Keys and strings take over in absence of the initial acoustics on “The Life and Times of Rosa Lee”, leaving little room for vocal errors on Long’s part. The performance, barring one or two melodic miscues, is extremely commendable and genuine, its lo-fi production serving as the perfect closer to a highly impressive release that should provide some nice press for The Library before their CMJ appearance later this week. When the acoustics pick up after Long’s lyrics compel the listener about the overdue formation of a certain band, one can sense the passion for musical ingenuity within the songwriting and delivery. That their styles may derive from the past should only serve to supplement The Library’s amiable level of enjoyment. After all, in kicking off a decade of supposed stylistic declassification, everything seems fair game at this point.

RIYL: The Clientele, Slowdive, Belle & Sebastian, Felt, Neil Young, Ride

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The Library – Tomorrow Is Better

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The Library – Wish I Knew

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The Library – The Life and Times of Rosa Lee

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The post Brooklyn’s Favorite Library appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Thanks to all those that participated in last week’s survey. I am always looking for ways to improve the site and unbiased, constructive criticism is always welcome as a means to make this place better. Three opinions that appeared to dominate were a desire for shorter and more frequent posts, more album reviews, and a device to aid those that are in too much of a rush to read an article. The latter will now be enforced by incorporating a RIYL (“Recommended If You Like”) tag at the end of most posts. This was implemented earlier this week with Jesus H. Foxx’s feature. I hope that this will allow a more convenient format for those that either do not enjoy my writing or simply do not have the time to read it. I take no offense to any of it; I just want to share good music and make it as convenient as possible for the people reading.

I will also begin to increase the amount of reviews, mainly because there seems to be a request for more variety apart from the typical artist feature. I usually only review artists that have a reputable status since the unknowns would benefit more from the unveiling of information, but now I have decided to incorporate reviews on both ends of the spectrum. Features will continue to run regularly, but expect more in terms of score-based reviews where the insight will be just as much, if not more, than the features you are already familiar with. I will also attempt to wind down my posts in order to maximize the site’s content on a per-week basis. Like you, I only have a certain amount of time per week I can allocate to extracurricular activities like this, so I figure featuring more groups in a concise manner would be ideal for everyone. I wish that I could post about a new band every day, but classes, work, and sleep have something to say about that. One benefit you will already notice that derives from this is an increase of bands in each month’s best-of compilation. As September’s excellent collection will show, featuring more than a dozen great acts is a lot more fulfilling than nine or ten.

As always, feel free to send suggestions to my e-mail or in the comments below. Don’t worry about it if you have opinions and missed the survey. I’ll take suggestions any way I can get them.

01. Kordan – Fantasy Nation (post)
02. Jesus H. Foxx – I’m Half the Man You Were (post)
03. Fool’s Gold – Surprise Hotel (post)
04. The Drums – Down By the Water (post)
05. Horse Shoes – Hey Come Back! (post)
06. Grant-Lee Phillips – Strangest Thing (post)
07. Mayer Hawthorne – Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out (post)
08. Le Loup – Beach Town (post)
09. M. Bison – All Things to All People (post)
10. Old Canes – Trust (post)
11. Adam Marsland – Standing in Chicago (post)
12. The Cubical – Edward the Confessor (post)
13. Oryan – The Ride (post)
14. The Yes Pleases – From Whence It Came (post)

DOWNLOAD ENTIRE COMPILATION>>> (58 MB, .RAR)

The post Obscure Sound: Best of September 2009 appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

The Cubical recorded their debut album during the humid Californian summer, complemented by the production skills of a veteran in Dave Sardy whose resume includes Johnny Cash and The Rolling Stones. A reputable producer, a studio in Hollywood, and touting the glories of a California sun are commonly characteristics of any short-lived, big-label act these days, so it would probably be easy to group The Cubical in with the rest. How premature that would be though, especially considering that their sound is the contrary of such cliches. Their studied approach takes listeners to the past with a refreshing ideology rather than bringing them to familiar territory with nothing but a pre-designed template at their side. This is one way to prove that The Cubical transcend their natural advantages, though Dan Wilson’s vocal delivery is singularly the component that separates them from the others featured on this site that also attribute slight stylistic interpretations to common themes of the past.

That Wilson sounds like a possessed madman just waiting for an exorcism makes his presence uniquely empowering on its own. As listeners will learn though, this is not the primary allure. How Wilson is able to manipulate his half-enraged, half-deranged tone is what brings The Cubical’s debut, Come Sing These Crippled Tunes, to great heights. For instance, we all know that Tom Waits has a coarsely unique voice that is entirely his own. Certainly his audience is attracted to it too, but do you honestly think they would keep coming back if he had nothing to say? He relays all kinds of wonderfully bizarre narratives, but how he alternates his vocal pattern (somber whimper developing into a coarse mumble, etc.) in coordination with the content at hand. The band’s own producer, Dave Sardy, could probably tell you that himself by working with Johnny Cash, who even before Waits had this technique down pat. Neither have the voice that Simon Cowell would get on his knees for, but they were both inarguably able to accomplish more vocalized distinction than any eventual winner of Americal Idol will thanks in part to this ability. Correlating one’s God-given vocal chords with the applicable songwriting that their talents provided them is quite difficult, but artists like Cash and Waits have paved the way for talented musicians like The Cubical in that regard.

As Wilson croons about a certain infatuation with little fingertips and a tiny silhouette on “Edward the Confessor”, listeners will be tempted to either cower in fear and raised eyebrows or take solace in a voice that is one of the most unique devices for interpretation you are likely to find on a rock album. With roaring guitars, bluesy organs, and thunderous percussion, the five-piece tread in territories of rockabilly and power-pop depending on the effort, though modernistic classic-rock might be the best tag for this group. “Edward the Confessor” is frantic in its guitar-powered romps, making room for occasional absences of instrumentation in its entirety for breaks that serve to either introduce a rollicking guitar solo or a coarse rumble from Wilson. Either one is welcome throughout the entire effort as Wilson pleads for forgiveness to a beloved who evolves from an object of infatuation to a symbolic representation of repressed desires and superficial privation. “No, no, pay the price with such fame and virtue,” he screeches, allowing for the shift between repressed forgiveness and exhausted agitation.

Like any good film, the best part about The Cubical is how it keeps the listener on the edge of their seat despite some predictable consistencies. Although Wilson’s voice may take some getting used to in its resonant consistency and tonal pattern, it becomes a redeeming component of the band’s sound in tracks like “Edward the Confessor” and “Like Me (I’m a Peacock)”. The latter begins with a guitar riff that is so soaked in so much reverb and old-fashioned melodic goodness that it immediately invokes nostalgia. The chorus follows a similar path, even if Wilson’s lyrical urgings of ripping his unrequited lover from the ground may have been a bit too risque for the ’60s. The music is not too far from the era though, as the classic-rock feel is better than ever here with nothing more than guitar and rhythm dominating successfully. Wilson calls himself a demon quite suitably in the lyrics as well, and his voice only allows for the listener to picture the face of a disgruntled but talented individual whose repressed adoration has led him to this point. This point? I almost made the point of artistic triumph sound detrimental for a second. My apologies. The Cubical deal with some pretty gruesome takes on romanticism and repressed love throughout Come Sing These Crippled Tunes, but at all points it is simply a refreshing addition to a sound that would not sound appropriate any other way. Would you really want Dan Wilson’s voice to be singing about lollipops and rainbows? I didn’t think so.

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The Cubical – Edward the Confessor

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The Cubical – Like Me (I’m a Peacock)

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The Cubical – Great White Lie

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Dead Young Records

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The post Come Sing These Crippled Tunes appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

In an age where audible masculinity is often associated with loud guitars and aggressive screaming, you are really putting yourself out in the open (and taking a few commercial risks) by shaping your vinyl records in the shape of a heart. Sociological standards have changed just as much, if not more, than music in the past seven decades, and to associate hearts with music nowadays seems to either involve Disney’s latest abstaining sensations or overly adorable indie-pop. Thus, to expect something modern-sounding out of Drew Cohen, better known Mayer Hawthorne, might be premature. After all, this is the same guy who asked his label, Stones Throw, if they could press his debut single like Bobby Caldwell did in the early ’80s, when his vinyl was pressed into the shape of a heart. The reason? Simply because the songs dealt with love. Taking a cue from a blue-eyed soul songwriter like Caldwell seems apt for Cohen, even if his his primary influences are actually scattered throughout the ’50s and ’60s. What is amicable among these soul songwriters, though, regardless of whether they originated in the ’50s or ’80s is the prevalence of ardency, even if it takes away a lot of the masculinity that rock ‘n’ roll instills. But for those music fans that are truly fans, this should be irrelevant. In the case of Cohen, the lack of self-concern is a breath of fresh air.

Detroit’s prominence nowadays mainly arises from high crime rates, but anyone without knowledge of the city’s illustrious musical history has a lot of great acts waiting for them (most of which they probably know). In that sense, it is one of the richest cities in the nation. The city has seen plenty of great rock acts – from Iggy & the Stooges to The White Stripes – emerge over the past couple decades, but perhaps Detroit’s most embodied sense of musical history was its role during the explosion of R&B and soul in the ’50s. Motown Records, important for both its role in racial desegregation and massive corporate success, is home to Detroit, as were artists like Smokey Robinson and The Temptations. The role of Detroit in building a foundation for future soul artists was integral. As a result, you can imagine the influence it had on the Detroit kids that were growing up in the ’50s and ’60s. Being surrounded by such a stylistically invigorating phase must have been invigorating and utterly memorable. For the artistically inclined growing up in Detroit, seeing the simultaneous abundance of rock ‘n’ roll, R&B, and soul from the early ’50s toward the late ’70s must have left a unique impression, one that perhaps made their future endeavors considerably more eclectic and nostalgic than their peers.

Growing up just outside of Detroit in Ann Arbor, Cohen’s childhood was surrounded by music. And although he was born too late for Detroit’s legendary era of rock and soul (he grew up in the ’80s), his father was not. A full-time owner of an auto-parts store and part-time musician, Cohen’s father introduced Motown to him at a young age. They would listen to Motown together on his way to work, with the younger Cohen asking his father dozens of questions for each song that came on the radio. The father would gladly respond with all the answers, igniting his son’s passion for music in the process. The ’80s was not an era when Motown was being played continuously on the radio, but we can all thank Mr. Cohen for being a bit behind the times and exposing his son to music that would eventually separate him from his peers in his musical career. It is ironic how something deemed as “outdated” can lead to freshly concocted ideas years afterward, perhaps showing that influences are never really outdated at all. Cohen’s father still unsurprisingly plays in a band back in Detroit, while he has been turning heads with his Mayer Hawthorne project. Originally started for pure fun, playing soul favorites for family and friends evolved into something more for Cohen. Considering Cohen had spent most of his time prior working as a DJ for underground hip-hop group Now On, some could say that his foray into soul music was like discovering a latent talent for the first time.

A fan of everything from hip-hop to grunge, Cohen’s interpretation of neo-soul on his debut A Strange Arrangement borrows both modernistic and retro components of pop and Motown to establish a release that separates itself from contemporaries like Raphael Saadiq and Lee Fields. The self-titled track is one of the album’s most stunning, taking the signature layers of Motown orchestration to produce a smooth and heavily seductive mixture of brass, piano, and guitars incorporated into a stunning rhythm section. The rhythm sounds casual and slowly paced, but the way it leads and develops the track’s peaks under Cohen’s absolutely stunning vocals is unforgettable. The main hook, signaled by the abrupt descending of bass notes, recalls The Stylistics and other Philly soul groups that treated listeners with smooth subtleties and lavish orchestration. “But I can’t stand by while you break my heart in two,” he laments during the hook, solidifying the timeless and old-fashioned gripes of unrequited love in ways so sincere that today’s youth is hardly familiar with it. This track is extremely reminiscent of the past, but many others on the album do assume a more contemporary standing.

“Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out” was the first song completed for the album and the one that prompted Stones Throw to commission Cohen for a full album. This one applies more swiftness and gradual guitar work, with the falsetto and backing vocals being more up-to-date with modern blue-eyed soul artists like Jamie Lidell. Meanwhile, “Maybe So, Maybe No” utilizes some crisp brass incorporated with funk (à la Matthew Herbert) to showcase some very intelligent songwriting. “Green Eyed Love” is quite fascinating for its hazy keyboard lead and updated production, sounding more along the lines of a stripped-down Gnarls Barkley than a ’60s soul artist. It always works though regardless of contemporary standing, and that in itself justifiably shows why A Strange Arrangement is one of the most enjoyably accessible debuts of the year.

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Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement

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Mayer Hawthorne – Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out

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Mayer Hawthorne – Green Eyed Love

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Stones Throw Records

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The “Omaha Sound” is one of the few stylistically determinable phrases of this decade that lacks pretentiousness and overwrought conceptual tasks. To describe a stylistic trend during a specific era, we tend to resort to concocted terminology like the “British Invasion”, “Paisley Underground”, or “mod revival” in order to provide proper basis for comparisons and description. It is a shortcut in describing a certain period, since its convenience lies in the generalization that agreeing upon a specific era’s artistic leaders and brand names is often mutual among music fans. These names, whether originated from an inside-joke like “Paisley Underground” or simply made from a historically directive standpoint in “mod revival”, often tend to create themselves without effort. Historians tend to take credit for coinage the most, but journalists and artists are certainly close behind. These names usually take decades to form and become widespread, as one who assumes that a certain movement will become historical is contemplating with too much inherent bias in order to be worried about terminology. But one trend that has become recognizable for all savvy music fans of the ’00s is the output of Saddle Creek, a label whose name has become synonymous with quality indie-folk that defies the necessities of glitzy, commercial pop music.

Conor Oberst, Saddle Creek’s initial co-founder alongside his brother Justin, certainly represents his label’s most recognizable venture with his Bright Eyes project, but Saddle Creek has gradually evolved into one of the world’s most respectable folk labels. To singularly label Saddle Creek as a “folk label” seems somewhat linear considering they have more energetic, guitar-based groups like Tokyo Police Club and Land of Talk on their current roster, but its reputation as a folk-friendly label still is reflective in the bulk of its acts. Epic narratives and gritty acoustic guitars still tower over fancy production and full-blown orchestras over at Saddle Creek, and one of their latest signings in Old Canes brings us back to the label’s early days when they were salvaging the most promising acts from the new and emerging indie-folk scene of the early ’90s. To group one of Kansas’ beloved acts, The Appleseed Cast, into this mold might seem a bit forced. After all, intricate post-rock with howling vocals and pulsating guitar work contrasts with the barren folk that Saddle Creek is renowned for. Perhaps this is why it comes as such a surprise that Christopher Crisci, The Appleseed Cast’s frontman, has emerged with one of the finer folk releases of 2009.

Few artists are faced with the obstacle of turning an electric sound into an acoustic sound, as the latter is often employed more for initially developmental works that would allow additional instrumental work. Crisci was faced with this dilemma in 2001 when he was touring with The Appleseed Cast. Promoters wanted a more accessible, acoustic sound for the in-store shows and this prompted Crisci to reach into the depths of his songwriting vault. After pulling out some acoustic songs that had never seen the light of the day, the reception was so encouraging that Crisci decided to pursue the sound even further. Upon establishing his solo project, Old Canes, he surprised fans with his 2004 debut, Early Morning Hymns, and the introduction of a folkier sound that possessed the same ardency of The Appleseed Cast with a startlingly different style. Instead of being compared to Mogwai and Minus the Bear, Crisci’s work was now being mentioned alongside Neutral Milk Hotel and other elusive Elephant 6 acoustic-psyche acts. Crisci was sincere with his gravelly vocals and acoustic guitar, utilizing lo-fi production that is not reluctant to show its crackles or audible deficiencies. Instead, these flaws took up a chronological role of their own in making a 2004 release sound like it was a classic from the ’70s. Minus Story’s Jordan Geiger was there to throw in everything from trumpets to glockenspiels, roughing out the edges and making the comparisons more evident to Elephant 6-like recordings. He was generally responsible for the difference between ’70s psyche-folk and ’90s pop-experimentation, and with Crisci was responsible for the accomplished Early Morning Hymns.

Crisci’s debut got the attention of Saddle Creek, who agreed to release the follow-up Feral Harmonic this October. Crisci has released two albums with The Appleseed Cast since the release of Early Morning Hymns, so it was interesting to hear how his fascination with acoustics and folk music played out with more experience on his side. The Appleseed Cast’s 2006 album, Peregrine, incorporated more guitar-based acoustics and diversity than any of the group’s albums before it, while their new album this year (Sagarmatha) was primarily a foray into gradually evolving post-rock. Feral Harmonic comes out of nowhere in being incomparable to any Appleseed Cast releases, while only retaining traces of Old Canes’ debut. Crisci is not necessarily making a transition, but rather learning how to incorporate all of his knowledge and strengths. Tracks like the forewarning “Trust” and “Sweet” incorporate heightened tempos and more intricate structures, all while retaining a core acoustic sound that complements Crisci’s vocals as effectively as ever. “Sweet” brings out some of Geiger’s toy pianos and glockenspiels again, while the trumpets add some extra oomph to a curious arrangement filled with delightful twists and turns.

“Trust” also serves as one of the album’s most noteworthy efforts, with an eruption of passion ushering itself in appropriately after a subdued section in which twinkling keys are the only noticeable instrument. When the strong acoustical strums and hectic flurry of keys collide, the immersion is unavoidable. “Little Bird Courage” is particularly demonstrative of the excellent drumming on this album; how it evolves and eventually introduces the toy pianos and trumpets creates an extraordinary build-up that kicks off the album with triumphant artistic vigor. Feral Harmonic is a bolder, more unpredictable release than its predecessor. It sharpens its production with more instrumentation and proper mixing, but the raw authenticity of the folk delivered on Early Morning Hymns is not lost. Crisci is as emotive as ever, and his ability to craft truly epic songs with the sincerest of emotions in mind is a true talent that he puts to proper use in Old Canes’ excellent Feral Harmonic. The “Omaha Sound” is safe in the hands of Old Canes, a group that appears poised for success due to their estimable veneration for evolving post-rock and raw indie-folk alike. Never has the combination sounded so sincere.

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Old Canes – Trust

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Old Canes – Little Bird Courage

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Old Canes – Sweet

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Saddle Creek Records

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